


blame everyone but me for this mess

by lesbianpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Crack, Crack Fic, Finally, Fluff, M/M, Shrinking, and, but - Freeform, ehhhhh who cares, idk what to tag, is that a tag, probably in that order, the crack returns!!!, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianpatrick/pseuds/lesbianpatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Patrick makes a regrettable wish and regrets it, and Pete gets the brunt of it. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>"I wish you <em>would</em> magically shrink overnight." Patrick mutters. Another sip of coffee. "It'd serve you right."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	blame everyone but me for this mess

**Author's Note:**

> Kell, this is your fault 
> 
> I found this shit in notes and brushed it up and yes this weirdness is chaptered, I'm sorry
> 
> This first chapter is l o n g, don't expect that to be consistent 
> 
> ...enjoy

"Hey, Pete?" Patrick asks, falling back onto the balls of his feet. "Can you help me?"

"What?" Pete looks up from his phone, probably playing a mobile game (he wouldn't admit it, but there's a good chance it's Neko Atsume). 

"I want to get a coffee mug but the stupid hotel people put it too high up." Patrick explains, gesturing to the shelf containing worn porcelain mugs. It's just an inch from his reach, even on tiptoe. 

Pete snorts. "You're that short, are you? Alright, I'll help." 

He gets up and strolls to the cabinet, making a show of easily grabbing the mug from the shelf. Grinning, he turns and hands Patrick the mug. "Here, o short one." 

"Fuck off." Patrick mutters and pours the coffee, adding one sugar and stirring it angrily. "You've got, like, two inches on me."

"You're still shorter!" Pete grins and strolls back to the messy hotel bed, returning to totally-not-Neko-Atsume on his phone. 

Patrick huffs. He takes his coffee back to the other bed, and sits on the edge, sipping slowly and glaring at Pete. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, then Pete says, "At least I can reach the coffee mugs." 

"Leave it." Patrick hisses, taking another sip of coffee. 

"You're so short, I swear half the fans are taller than you. Even the twelve-year-old girls." Pete smirks. 

"Pete. Seriously." Patrick glares. "A lot of them are taller than you, too."

"Yeah, but. More are taller than you." Pete shrugs. 

"Wonder how you'd like it if you were short." Patrick shoots back, sipping again. "If you were shorter than me, even. Bet you wouldn't like that. Bet you wouldn't make fun of me anymore."

"But I'm not." Pete raises an eyebrow. "What am I gonna do? Magically shrink overnight? Yeah right."

"I wish you _would_ magically shrink overnight." Patrick mutters. Another sip of coffee. "It'd serve you right." 

"In your dreams." Pete laughs. 

Patrick finishes his coffee in one big swig and angrily falls back onto the bed. "It's like, nine. I'm sleeping. Show tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll sleep too, if that's how you want to play." Pete replies. 

They both get comfortable, purposefully facing away from each other. 

"It's eight thirty." Pete says suddenly. 

"Fuck off." Patrick mutters. 

Sleep. 

~*~

Pete wakes up, and something is wrong. 

He has no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it sure as hell is wrong. 

The blanket feels too warm, too heavy. Pete blinks open his eyes. Something is totally wrong, but he still doesn't know what it is. 

He slides out from under the covers, which is surprisingly hard. The covers have definitely gotten about ten times heavier. One look around, and _oh, shit_. 

Everything is _huge_. The entirety of the hotel room looks ginormous, for some reason. In the back of his mind, he knows exactly what is going on, but he won't admit it quite yet. 

Pete stands up. It's dizzying. He backs up and hits something huge and soft. He turns. 

It's his pillow. 

Now he has to accept reality: he's _tiny_.

"Holy fucking shit." He whispers. His voice still sounds normal, at least. If he had a squeaky voice or some shit, Patrick wouldn't let him hear the end of it. 

Patrick. 

This is totally Patrick's fault. 

At first, it's an angry blame for no good reason. Then he realizes.

This totally _is_ Patrick's fault. 

Because he remembers that little argument about height the last night, and Patrick's exact words were, if he remembers correctly (he's pretty sure he does), "I wish you _would_ magically shrink overnight."

Who says wishes don't come true?

Pete turns to look to Patrick's bed. He's snoring, and he looks huge from this point of view. Pete needs to wake him up somehow, if only to yell at him, because Pete is currently _fucking pissed_. 

Pete begins the hard task immediately. He makes his way to the edge of the bed and, taking a deep breath, leaps the gap to the nightstand in between the two beds. He makes it.

So far so good. 

Then he backs up and takes a running leap up to the bed, and barely makes it. 

That was easy enough.

Then he wanders through the folds of the sheets and makes it to Patrick's ear, which he's maybe twice the height of at this point. 

That's really frustrating.

"Wake the fuck up, you idiot! This is your fault!" He yells as loudly as possible directly into Patrick's ear. 

Patrick sits bolt upright and looks around, eyes passing right over Pete. "Who's there?"

"Down here, you fucking idiot!" Pete yells, feeling like that one character in every movie. You know the one. The one who gets humiliated at every chance the writer finds?

Yeah, that's him right now. 

"I- _Pete_?" Patrick says as he looks down, eyes widening. 

Pete crosses his arms. "You know, this is all your fault, and you better fucking apologize." 

Patrick's eyes widen some more. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You...oh my god." 

Shakily, he reaches out a hand and literally picks Pete up by his shirt, and places him neatly in the other hand. Pete doesn't appreciate being jostled around like this.

"Hey! Don't crush me or some shit like that!" Pete warns, sitting down after failing to stand in Patrick's shaking hand. 

"Oh my god. You are so _small_." Patrick breathes out. 

"Shut up." Pete grits his teeth. 

"But. How is this my fault?" Patrick asks, cocking his head to the side. 

Pete rolls his eyes. "Really? 'I wish you _would_ magically shrink overnight'? I wonder how this is your fault."

"Oh, I-oh." Patrick bites his lip. "Okay, I didn't really mean that."

"I doubt you did, but _here we are_." Pete sighs and lets himself fall onto his back against the skin of Patrick's hand. It's comfortable, surprisingly enough. 

"I'm the tall one now." Patrick stares at nothing in particular in awe. "I'm the tall one, by like, multiple feet. Oh my god."

"Yeah, thanks. Don't remind me." Pete mutters. 

"You can't make fun of me for being short anymore!" Patrick declares, grinning. "You're a lot shorter."

"Patrick. Not the time." Pete hisses. 

"Why not?" Patrick raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think we can play a show like this." Pete replies. 

"Oh." Patrick's smile leaves as quickly as it came. "Okay, yeah. We're screwed." 

"Do we need to tell Andy and Joe now?" Pete suggests. 

Patrick sighs. "I think we're obliged to."

Not that Pete wants to. He's just obliged to. 

~*~

Patrick's pocket is not very comfortable, Pete discovers. Well, the pocket itself is comfortable. There's a stubby pencil stuck in the corner, and he's gathered some lint at the bottom and made a little pillow out of it, and it's nice and soft, and he can hold on to it when Patrick moves around too much and he gets thrown around. That's why Patrick's pocket is uncomfortable. Because of the getting-thrown-around part. 

Patrick has made it to the room Joe and Andy are sharing, Pete can tell because he heard knocking and now Patrick is shifting anxiously on his feet, throwing Pete back and forth in his pocket. Pete squeezes the lint pillow for comfort. It kind of helps. 

Pete hears the door open. 

"Patrick?" He hears Andy ask. "What do you need? Where's Pete?"

Pete resists to urge to yell something like "I'm right here, you fucking idiot!", because how would Andy know? 

"Can I come in? I need to talk to you." Patrick says, obviously nervous, and neglecting to answer the question about where Pete is.

"Um, yeah? Go ahead." Andy replies, and Pete hears the door open wider, and then Patrick starts walking in, and Pete is thrown around even more. He squeezes the lint pillow again. 

Patrick continues walking, then Pete feels a jolt as Patrick sits down, probably on a bed. 

"Hey Patrick." Pete hears Joe greet him. "What's wrong?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably, causing Pete to tumble around again. "Okay, so, let's say, hypothetically, and only hypothetically, that I maybe wished for something, but I didn't mean it, and it actually came true." 

"Speaking hypothetically, I'd say that, first of all, wishes never come true, so I'm glad this is hypothetical and you aren't going insane." Andy replies. "But secondly, I'd ask if this has anything to do with why you won't tell me where Pete is."

Pete shifts in Patrick's pocket, trying to get comfortable while Patrick is sitting still. 

"Um." Patrick mutters. "Maybe it does, just a little bit."

Joe sighs. "I'm with Andy on this one. Wishes don't just magically come true. And if they did, it definitely wouldn't be any you don't mean, right?"

"Um. Well." Patrick sighs. 

Pete is done with this. He takes the stub of a pencil, very well sharpened, that's been just sitting in the corner of the pocket with him and pokes Patrick through the coat. 

"Ow!" Patrick jumps up, jostling Pete around again, but it was worth it. "Hey!"

"What was that about?" Andy asks. 

Pete takes the pencil like a sword and pokes again. He's not going to stop until Patrick stops trying to be mysterious. 

"Fuck!" Patrick practically screams. Pete can just imagine Andy and Joe's faces. When Patrick swears that loudly, it's serious. 

Pete pokes again. 

"That's it." Patrick sticks his hand in the pocket and takes the pencil. Pete can hardly hold onto it and falls back onto his lint pillow. 

"Was the pencil poking you?" Joe asks, and snickers a bit. 

"Yes, and it was painful." Patrick replies. 

"But back to the point. You're ranting about wishes and being poked by pencils, but you still won't say where Pete is." Andy says, trying to get the conversation back on track. 

"Oh. Right." Patrick says, and Pete swears the 'right' was tinged with murder. "So about the wish thing. Pete and I were arguing last night." 

"And?" Andy asks. 

"Did you wish he didn't exist? Then wouldn't we not remember him? Whoa. That's...confusing." Joe says. 

"No. Um." Patrick sighs. "See-"

Pete full body slams against his body from inside the pocket, hoping to have some impact. This results in two things. 

One: Andy asks, "Did something just move in your pocket?"

Two: Patrick, fed up, yells, "Oh my god, Pete, _stop it_!"

The room settles into silence. Pete can literally feel the awkwardness. Wow. 

"What do you mean, 'Pete, stop it'?" Andy asks, in a tone that clearly says 'go on'.

"Um." Patrick mutters. 

Pete is so done. "Just get me out of here, you fucking idiot!" He yells out of the pocket. 

Patrick jumps a little at his voice. This, of course, results in more jostling. 

"What was that?" Joe asks. "I heard someone talking."

"Oh. Well, see." Patrick sighs in defeat and puts his hand into his pocket. Pete happily climbs onto it, smiling to himself as he grips the middle finger (which, at this point, he's about the same height as). 

Patrick pulls his hand out of his pocket and Pete finally sees Joe and Andy. They both look tired, and only Andy is dressed. Both are suffering extreme bedhead right now. Both are staring at him like they think they've gone insane. 

Maybe they have. 

Patrick holds out his hand, palm up, and Pete settles into the palm, sitting with his legs crossed and staring at Joe and Andy like he's in a staring contest for his life. 

They blink first. 

" _What_." Andy whispers. 

"No. Fucking. Way." Joe murmurs. 

"Shut up already." Pete glares at them. They both jump, like they didn't expect him to talk or something. 

"Patrick, _what did you do_?" Andy asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Oh, I'll tell you, since apparently he's incapable even after being stabbed by a pencil multiple times." Pete interrupts. Joe snickers in a 'should've known it was you' way. Pete continues. "Patrick couldn't reach the coffee mugs, 'cause he's short, right? So he asked me for help. Then I might have made fun of his height a little, and he said I wouldn't be like this if I was shorter, and I said 'what am I going to do? Magically shrink overnight?' and he said 'I wish you would magically shrink overnight' and now here we are." 

"Oh. My god." Andy shakes his head. "You people are insane."

"In my defense, he was being mean!" Patrick says, huffing. 

"What is this, preschool?" Pete replies. Joe laughs, even though it's not even funny. "Besides, we have a show tonight, and I cannot. Play. Like. This." 

Joe isn't laughing anymore. 

"Okay." Andy sighs. "So we've got to fix this, then." 

"Yeah, but how?" Patrick asks. "So I made a wish and it came true, how do we fix that?"

"I don't know, make another wish?" Pete asks, sighing. 

"That never works." Joe replies with certainty. 

"And what's your source for that info? Movies?" Pete asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Joe rolls his eyes. "Where else are wishes involved? Other than, y'know, right now."

"Guys, I really think we should take this seriously." Andy suggests, giving Joe and Pete both a stern look.

"Whatever." Pete mutters, standing up and turning to look at Patrick. "Can I get down?"

"Uh, sure." Patrick obliges, setting Pete down on the nightstand between the two beds.

"Thank you." Pete says, sitting down and leaning back against the alarm clock, which now seems huge to him. Well, then again, everything seems huge to him. 

Fuck, how are they going to fix this?


End file.
